WELCOME
Good morning, church family.
It’s a gift to gather here today—
to breathe,
to rest,
to lay down the noise of the week,
and to remember that we belong to a God who carries us far more than we realize.
Wherever you find yourself today—
strong or tired,
hopeful or anxious,
full of clarity or full of questions—
you are welcome here.
This is a safe place for your heart,
because the presence of Jesus is a safe place for your soul.
We have come to meet Him,
to hear Him,
and to let Him do in us
what only He can do.
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REFLECTIVE QUESTION
Before we open the Word, let me ask you a question—
a question not for your neighbor,
not for your spouse,
not for your children,
but for you:
Is there someone in your life you’ve been trying to carry…
someone you’ve been trying to fix, shape, steer, or control…
someone you worry about more than you trust God with?
Just hold that person gently in your heart.
Because God may invite you today
to place them back in His hands.
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SHORT INTRODUCTION
This morning I want to talk about something all of us feel—sometimes loudly, sometimes quietly, but always deeply.
It’s that pressure we put on ourselves to hold the world together…
to keep people on the right track…
to rescue those we love…
to make sure others think right, behave right, walk right, and turn out right.
It’s exhausting, isn’t it?
We don’t usually talk about it, but we carry it.
And we carry it because we care.
But caring can turn into controlling without us ever noticing.
Today, Romans 14 offers us a gift—
a gift of rest,
a gift of release,
a gift of remembering that there are parts of other people’s lives
that Jesus never asked you to carry.
He’s already carrying them.
And He’s very good at His job.
So today’s message is very simple:
Jesus has this—
you don’t have to.
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THE RIVER STORY — OPENING HOOK
I once watched a group of children floating lazily down a quiet river on big inner tubes.
No paddles.
No effort.
No urgency.
They simply rested back, allowed the sun to warm their faces, and trusted the river to carry them downstream. Their laughter echoed long before they came into view around the bend.
A little farther up the bank, an anxious adult stood shouting instructions:
“Move left!”
“Watch that rock!”
“Stay in the middle!”
“Don’t get too close to the bank!”
He waved his arms wildly.
He tried to steer children he could not reach.
He tried to control something he did not cause.
He tried to supervise a current far stronger and wiser than he was.
And the children?
They ignored him completely.
The river had them.
The current was doing all the work he was straining to do.
As I watched, something settled into my spirit:
How many of God’s people is He carrying with perfect strength, perfect patience, and perfect wisdom—while the rest of us stand on the bank trying to run their lives?
We fear what might happen if we let go.
We fear what they will choose.
We fear what consequences may come.
And without realizing it, we step into a role we were never designed to have.
We become the anxious adult on the bank, waving our arms, shouting instructions, trying to manage a river that does not belong to us.
And this is exactly where Paul meets us in Romans 14.
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BEGINNING OF THE MESSAGE
The church in Rome was made up of people who deeply loved Jesus—but they did not trust Jesus with one another.
They had beliefs, convictions, traditions, and personal histories.
They had strong opinions and tender consciences.
They were sincere.
They were passionate.
And they were judging each other to death.
Some felt free to eat anything.
Others believed they should eat only vegetables.
Some still honored certain sacred days.
Others felt every day was the same.
Both sides were absolutely convinced they were right.
And both were certain the other needed correction.
So what does Paul do?
He doesn’t write a doctrinal statement to settle the issue.
He doesn’t take sides.
He doesn’t scold one group and defend the other.
Paul does something far more healing:
He lifts their eyes.
He takes the entire conversation out of their small, cramped circle of arguments
and sets it in the vast landscape of God’s grace, God’s kingdom, and God’s authority.
He begins with one of the most liberating lines in Scripture:
“Who are you to judge another man’s servant?”
(Romans 14:4)
Paul is not insulting them.
He is freeing them.
He is saying:
“You are exhausted because you are trying to run someone else’s life.
You are carrying a burden Jesus never handed you.
You have stepped into a job that is not yours.
Let it go.”
Then he adds:
“Indeed, he will be made to stand,
for God is able to make him stand.”
This is breathtaking.
Paul is telling the church—
and he is telling us—
that God is better at leading people than we are at managing them.
And that is when the truth begins to break through:
We try to run other people’s lives
because we don’t trust Jesus with them.
We don’t trust His timing.
We don’t trust His methods.
We don’t trust His patience.
We don’t trust His grace.
We don’t trust that He sees what we cannot.
We don’t trust that He knows their story better than we ever will.
So we step onto the riverbank,
wave our arms,
and shout corrections at people God is already carrying.
But Paul invites us to something better:
Let go of the need to be someone else’s Lord.
Let Jesus do what only Jesus can do.
Because compared to Jesus…
We don’t see very far.
We see behavior; He sees the heart.
We see irritation; He sees wounds.
We see a moment; He sees the entire lifelong journey.
Compared to Jesus…
Our love is small.
His love is cross-shaped.
Compared to Jesus…
Our wisdom is thin.
His wisdom is eternal.
Compared to Jesus…
Our power is nothing.
His power raises the dead.
Compared to Jesus…
Our authority is imaginary.
His authority is purchased with His own blood.
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And slowly, gently, lovingly, Romans 14 whispers across the centuries:
Let Jesus be Lord.
Let Jesus lead.
Let Jesus carry.
Let Jesus heal.
Let Jesus convict.
Let Jesus transform.
Let Jesus correct.
Let Jesus grow His people.
Because He’s already doing it.
He already has them.
And He is very, very good at His job.
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When Paul guides the believers in Rome away from their anxious need to control each other, he doesn’t shame them for caring. He doesn’t rebuke them for having convictions. He doesn’t belittle their desire for spiritual purity. Paul understands something we often forget:
Most judgment begins as concern.
Most control begins as fear.
Most tension begins as a desire for good things handled in the wrong way.
So how does Paul reshape their lives?
He starts with the conscience.
He writes, “Let each one be fully convinced in his own mind.”
That is one of the most surprising statements in the New Testament.
Because Paul is saying the conscience, however imperfect, is sacred ground.
God meets people there.
God shapes people there.
God speaks to people there.
We are not responsible for someone else’s conscience, and we are not qualified to police it. God alone knows how to bring each heart into maturity.
Imagine the humility it takes to say:
“I will respect your conscience even when it does not match mine, because I trust the Spirit to guide you.”
That is the atmosphere Paul wants in the church.
Some believers in Rome were convinced they must eat only vegetables.
Some felt free to eat anything.
Some honored special days.
Some treated every day alike.
Both sides thought the other was misinformed, misguided, immature, or careless.
Both sides thought they were helping God.
Both sides were trying to correct people who were not their servants.
So Paul does not settle the debate.
He goes deeper.
He says, in essence,
“Stop dissecting the behavior. Look at the heart.”
“One person esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike.
Let each be fully convinced in his own mind.
He who observes the day, observes it to the Lord;
and he who does not observe the day, to the Lord he does not observe it.”
(Romans 14:5–6)
Paul is telling them:
“You are all trying to honor God.
You are just honoring Him differently.
And God sees your devotion even when you cannot see each other’s.”
What a freeing truth.
It means someone can be wrong about a detail and still be right in their heart.
It means someone can hold a conviction you do not hold and still be faithful to Christ.
It means someone can be growing in an area you have already settled—and God is still pleased with them.
This is where the Spirit begins to soften us.
Once we stop looking at people through the lens of our expectations
and start looking at them through the lens of their devotion,
everything changes.
Paul then gives us his second argument:
The kingdom of God is not built on the issues we fight about the most.
He writes,
“The kingdom of God is not food and drink,
but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.”
(Romans 14:17)
Righteousness.
Peace.
Joy.
These are the marks of a community that trusts Jesus to shepherd each believer.
These are the fruits of people who have stopped trying to run each other’s lives.
These are the signs that Christ—not culture, not conscience, not control—is king.
What do we fight about most often in the church?
The disputable matters.
The cultural matters.
The preference matters.
The generational matters.
The style matters.
The personal conviction matters.
And Paul says, “That is not the kingdom.”
The kingdom is Christ.
The kingdom is His life in us.
The kingdom is His Spirit shaping our character.
The kingdom is love expressed in humility.
The kingdom is worship expressed in trust.
When we elevate minor matters to major battles, we shrink the kingdom down to the size of our opinions. We make the church smaller than the Gospel, narrower than God’s heart, and more rigid than Jesus Himself ever asks us to be.
Paul is calling us back to the largeness of grace.
Back to the wideness of God’s mercy.
Back to the greatness of the kingdom.
Back to the simplicity of Christ,
who holds together people who would never naturally hold together.
Then Paul gives the deepest and most anchoring truth of all:
“For to this end Christ died and rose and lived again,
that He might be Lord both of the dead and the living.”
(Romans 14:9)
The issue in Rome was never about food.
It was never about days.
It was never about who was strong or who was weak.
The issue was Lordship.
Who runs the church?
Who guides the conscience?
Who shapes the heart?
Who convicts the soul?
Who carries the weak?
Who guards the journey?
Who determines the pace?
Who holds the story?
Who sees the invisible battles?
Who understands the wounds we cannot see?
Who sets the direction of someone else’s spiritual walk?
Paul says:
Jesus.
Jesus.
Always Jesus.
He died for them.
He rose for them.
He lives for them.
He is Lord of their past, Lord of their present, Lord of their future.
He is Lord of their weaknesses, Lord of their convictions, Lord of their doubts.
He is Lord of every believer—even those who frustrate you the most.
When we judge another believer, we are attempting to sit in a chair that is not ours.
When we condemn another believer, we are trying to exercise authority we do not have.
When we pressure another believer, we are acting like the Holy Spirit belongs to us.
Paul asks,
“Why do you judge your brother?
Or why do you show contempt for your brother?
For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.”
(Romans 14:10)
What a needed reminder.
We do not sit on the throne.
We sit at the feet of the One who does.
And the One who sits on the throne is not harsh.
He is not quick-tempered.
He is not easily frustrated.
He is not impatient with slow growth.
He is not anxious when someone takes a wrong step.
He does not give up on people who wander.
He does not panic when we stumble.
He does not let go when we are confused.
He is a Shepherd before He is a Judge.
A Savior long before He is a King.
He knows how to hold them.
He knows how to shape them.
He knows how to convict them.
He knows how to bring them through the wilderness into the land of promise.
And if Jesus knows…
and Jesus cares…
and Jesus leads…
then we can trust Him.
Then we can let go.
Then we can breathe.
Then we can stop carrying burdens He never asked us to shoulder.
Paul now brings the teaching into daily life.
“Therefore let us pursue the things which make for peace and the things by which we may edify one another.”
(Romans 14:19)
In other words:
Stop trying to win the argument.
Start trying to win your brother.
Stop trying to enforce uniformity.
Start trying to build up unity.
Stop trying to be responsible for their decisions.
Start being responsible for your love.
This kind of community changes everything.
When the church becomes a place where people are free to grow, free to breathe, free to think, free to wrestle—without being attacked or judged or belittled—the Spirit moves with power.
This is what Paul wants for us:
Not a church full of perfect people,
but a church full of trusting people—
people who trust Christ in one another.
When we finally release the pressure to run someone else’s life,
we begin to see something beautiful:
Jesus is already doing the work we were trying to do.
And He’s doing it with more patience, more wisdom, more love, and more power than we ever could.
So, Paul says,
Stop tearing down what God is building.
Stop correcting what God is shaping.
Stop managing what God is carrying.
Let the river carry them.
Let the Spirit breathe in them.
Let grace grow them.
Let Jesus be their Lord.
Jesus has this.
You don’t have to.
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As Paul continues, the pastoral heart of Romans 14 begins to open like a flower. What started as correction now unfolds as invitation. What began as restraint blossoms into freedom. Paul is urging the church toward a way of life that is so beautiful, so liberating, that once you taste it, you never want to go back to the tight, controlling spirit that once ruled your relationships.
He writes, “Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food.”
We could translate that into our world this way:
“Do not destroy what God is doing in a person’s life because of something small.”
Don’t break someone’s spirit over a preference.
Don’t crush someone’s joy over a disputable matter.
Don’t tear down someone’s growth because they don’t match your convictions.
Don’t undo the grace God is building with the pressure you are applying.
Every believer you know is “the work of God.”
Not the work of fear.
Not the work of culture.
Not the work of tradition.
Not the work of their own willpower.
The work of God.
And the work of God is fragile in its early stages—
like a sprout pushing through soil,
like a flickering candle in the wind,
like a child learning to walk.
The Spirit is nurturing something inside them that you cannot see.
Something eternal.
Something delicate.
Something holy.
And Paul says,
“Be careful.
Do not tear down what heaven is planting.”
Then he gives us two cautions that bring spiritual maturity into focus.
First, he says, “If your brother is grieved because of your freedom, you are no longer walking in love.”
Meaning: Love limits itself for the sake of another’s soul.
Freedom is a good thing.
But if exercising your freedom wounds someone just beginning to grow,
love holds back.
Love waits.
Love considers the other.
Love asks, “Is this helpful? Is this loving? Will this harm someone whose faith is tender?”
Love surrenders rights to protect relationships.
It isn’t weakness.
It isn’t compromise.
It is Christlikeness.
Second, Paul says, “Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves.”
This is a precious truth.
It means God wants your heart to be at rest with the choices you make in Him.
He wants you to live in alignment with your conscience, not against it.
No imitation.
No pretending to be more “free” than you actually are.
No performing spirituality to impress others.
No forcing yourself to be where you are not yet ready to be.
“Whatever is not from faith,” Paul says, “is sin.”
Not because it is wicked,
but because it is disconnected from trust.
Here is the heart of that truth:
Faith, not pressure, is the soil of real spiritual growth.
If your conscience cannot yet walk in a certain freedom, wait. Jesus will bring you there when you’re ready. And if someone else’s conscience cannot yet walk where you walk, let the Holy Spirit bring them there in His time.
You see, God does not grow people by force.
He grows people by presence.
By mercy.
By patience.
By walking with them, not pushing them.
And that leads to one of the most beautiful sentences Paul ever wrote:
“For none of us lives to himself, and no one dies to himself.
For if we live, we live to the Lord;
and if we die, we die to the Lord.
Therefore, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.”
(Romans 14:7–8)
This is the anchor of everything.
This is the truth that releases the need to control.
This is the foundation of trust.
We are the Lord’s.
We do not belong to each other.
We do not belong to our critics.
We do not belong to our past.
We do not belong to fear.
We do not belong to those who pressure us.
We belong to Jesus.
And so does every believer around you.
That person who frustrates you?
They belong to Jesus.
That person whose convictions differ from yours?
They belong to Jesus.
That person who is growing slower than you think they should?
Jesus has them.
That person who sees things another way?
Jesus is guiding them.
The truth that frees us is the truth that frees them:
We are the Lord’s.
And the One who claims us is not reckless.
His hands are steady.
His patience is long.
His wisdom is deep.
His understanding is perfect.
His leadership is gentle.
His discipline is restorative.
His grace is relentless.
Jesus knows how to take someone from where they are
to where they must go.
Which means…
You do not have to stand on the riverbank with fear in your voice.
You do not need to shout instructions at people God is already carrying.
You do not need to micromanage someone else’s sanctification.
You do not need to supervise someone else’s spiritual progress.
You do not need to control someone else’s decisions.
You do not need to fix what God is forming.
You do not need to police what God is purifying.
Jesus is Lord.
Not you.
Not me.
Not the strongest believer in the room.
Jesus is Lord. And He is enough.
What would it look like to live this truth?
Imagine a church where people no longer feel pressure to perform, pretend, or protect themselves from judgment.
Imagine a family where every member is allowed to grow at their own pace in the hands of God.
Imagine friendships where disagreements are not threats but opportunities for grace.
Imagine a congregation where peace and joy flow like a river because control has finally been surrendered to Christ.
Imagine waking up tomorrow and letting this sentence shape your day:
Jesus has this — I don’t have to.
You could love without controlling.
You could guide without pressuring.
You could speak truth without fear.
You could pray without anxiety.
You could hope without trying to force outcomes.
You could trust without tightening your grip.
What if the person in your heart today—
the person you held quietly during the reflective question—
is already being carried by the river of God’s grace
more securely than you ever imagined?
What if Jesus has been working behind the scenes
while you have been worrying on the surface?
What if the story you fear losing
is already being written by hands far more skilled than yours?
What if the burden you thought was yours
was never yours to carry?
What if you simply whispered today,
“Lord, they’re Yours.
I place them in Your hands.
Lead them.
Grow them.
Carry them.
You have this.
I don’t have to.”
You may find peace returning.
Your relationships softening.
Your anger melting.
Your anxiety dissolving.
Your hope rising.
Your trust deepening.
Your heart healing.
Because when the weight falls off your shoulders
and onto the shoulders of the One who said,
“My yoke is easy, and My burden is light,”
you finally feel the freedom Paul has been trying to give us all along.
This is the beauty of Romans 14.
This is the tenderness of Jesus.
This is the rest God invites you into.
Let Jesus be Lord —
because He already is.
Trust the current —
because it’s carrying them.
Release the burden —
because it was never yours.
And believe this truth:
Jesus has this.
You don’t have to.
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APPEAL
Church family… before we close, I want to come back to the question we began with.
Is there someone in your life you’ve been trying to carry?
Someone whose choices trouble you…
someone whose journey scares you…
someone you want so desperately to protect, correct, or rescue,
that the weight of their life has somehow settled onto your shoulders?
Romans 14 is God’s invitation for you today.
You don’t have to be their Savior.
You don’t have to be their shepherd.
You don’t have to be their Holy Spirit.
You don’t have to stand on the riverbank and shout instructions into the wind.
Jesus has them.
He loves them more fiercely than you do.
He sees what you cannot see.
He knows the road beneath their feet.
He knows the wounds beneath their behavior.
He knows the future beyond your fear.
And He is already carrying them.
If the Spirit is whispering to you today—
inviting you to release the burden of controlling someone else’s life,
inviting you to trust Jesus with the parts of their story you cannot fix—
then right now, quietly in your heart,
place their name before the Lord.
Just breathe it out…
and let it fall into His hands.
“Lord, I trust You with them.
Lead them.
Carry them.
Shape them.
Save them.
You have this.
I don’t have to.”
May the peace of that surrender
fill your heart with rest,
your relationships with grace,
and your soul with the freedom
that comes from letting Jesus be Lord
of every life—including the ones you worry for most.
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PRAYER
Let us pray.
Father in Heaven,
we come to You as children who carry far more than we were ever meant to bear.
We confess that we have tried to fix, to steer, to correct, to control—
not out of malice, but out of fear…
and out of love that has forgotten how to trust.
Today, by Your Spirit,
teach us to release what is not ours to hold.
Teach us to trust You with the people we love.
Teach us to rest in the truth that You are Lord—
not only of us, but of them.
For the ones who are wandering,
be their Shepherd.
For the ones who are wounded,
be their Healer.
For the ones who are searching,
be their Light.
For the ones who are struggling,
be their Strength.
And for us, Lord…
be our Peace.
Set us free from the burden of carrying what only You can carry.
Help us to love without controlling,
to guide without pressuring,
to pray without fear,
and to hope without forcing outcomes.
We place these names—these hearts—
into Your faithful hands.
Thank You that Jesus has them.
Thank You that Jesus has us.
And thank You that we do not have to.
In His gentle, powerful, saving name we pray,
Amen.
